"I had never been loved with that love which makes one absolutely first to a person, nor had I ever so loved. I had--cared very much; but caring is not loving.--Oh, Boy, I know that now!" The doctor's profile showed rather white against the dark-green background of his chair; but he smiled as he answered: "Quite true, dear. There is a distinction, and a difference." "I had heaps of friends, and amongst them a good many nice men, mostly rather younger than myself, who called me 'Miss Champion.' to my face, and 'good old Jane' behind my back." The doctor smiled. He had as often heard the expression, and could recall the whole-hearted affection and admiration in the tones of those who used it. "Men as a rule," Continued Jane, "get on better with me than do women. Being large and solid, and usually calling a spade 'a spade;' and not 'a garden implement,' women consider me strong-minded, and are inclined to be afraid of me. The boys know they can trust me; they make a confidante of me, looking upon me as a sort of convenient elder sister who knows less about them than an elder sister would know, and is probably more ready to be interested in those things which they choose to tell. Among my men friends, Deryck, was Garth Dalmain." Jane paused, and the doctor waited silently for her to continue. "I was always interested in him, partly because he was so original and vivid in his way of talking, and partly because"--a bright flush suddenly crept up into the tanned cheeks-"well, though I did not realise it then, I suppose I found his extraordinary beauty rather fascinating. And then, our circumstances were so much alike,--both orphans, and well off; responsible to no one for our actions; with heaps of mutual friends, and constantly staying at the same houses. We drifted into a pleasant intimacy, and of all my friends, he was the one who made me feel most like `a man and a brother.' We discussed women by the dozen, all his special admirations in turn, and the effect of their beauty upon him, and I watched with interest to see who, at last, would fix his roving fancy. But on one eventful day all this was changed in half an hour. We were both staying at Overdene. There was a big house party, and Aunt Georgina had arranged a concert to which half the neighbourhood was coming. Madame Velma failed at the last minute. Aunt 'Gina, in a great state of mind, was borrowing remarks from her macaw. You know how? She always says she is merely quoting `the dear bird.' Something had to be done. I offered to take Velma's place; and I sang." "Ah," said the doctor. "I sang The Rosary--the song Flower asked for the last time I was here. Do you remember?" The doctor nodded. "I remember."